Fair Trade
by Coopereid
Summary: One-shot. While doing laundry, Spencer realizes that many of Derek's shirts have seen much better days. He brings it up to Derek and is made an offer: throwing away the shirts in exchange for letting Derek get rid of some of his less-than-flattering clothing.


As Spencer was doing laundry, he couldn't help but notice that several of Derek's t-shirts had seen much better days. There were some that were stretched out so much there was no elasticity left, so it was essentially just draped over Derek's body like a cape, and there were others that had so many holes in them that if he connected the dots, he was sure he could get a very intricate picture of something. He still folded them, putting them in the laundry basket and walking up the stairs from Derek's basement. The one thing on his mind was the fact that he had to talk to Derek about his shirts: it wasn't as if he couldn't afford more of them and replace the ones that were tattered and damaged. He was just lazy and didn't want to do it.

When he got to their bedroom, he put the clothes away. He then went through Derek's shirts, counting out just how many of them were faded and needed to be thrown away. He stopped counting after ten, but realized that the stack had doubled in size and then some. Shaking his head, he left them stacked on their bed, walking out to the living room and sitting down on the couch with a book.

Derek came home from the gym a half hour later, his tank top sticking to his body.

Spencer turned to look at him. "Good workout?"

He nodded before walking to the kitchen, taking out a sports drink and twisting off the cap, drinking it. "I got in my second rep of a thousand sit-ups, did my lifting, and a few miles on the treadmill. What'd you do all day?"

Spencer clicked his tongue, thinking to himself. "Cleaned the house, took Clooney for a walk, he chased a squirrel and nearly ripped my shoulder out of the socket, came home, did laundry, and I've finished two books."

Derek raised his eyebrows, impressed. "Look at you, filling up your Saturday."

Spencer mock laughed, setting down the book he was reading.

Derek pointed to the bathroom. "I'm going to take a quick shower, and then we'll order in?"

"Sounds like a plan."

While Derek was in the shower, Spencer called and ordered the Chinese food to be delivered. Tucking his credit card back into his wallet, he put the wallet into his bag and leaned back on the couch, opening his book again.

After dinner, Derek sat on the couch, arm wrapped around Spencer's shoulders. When the show they were watching was on a commercial, Derek squeezed his arm.

"Spencer?"

He looked up at Derek, eyebrow raised. "Yes?"

"_Why_ are more than half of my t-shirts sitting on the bed in piles? Did you forget to put them back in my drawer when you were putting everything away?"

Spencer smirked, shaking his head. "Not exactly, no."

"Then would you like to enlighten me?"

He sat up. "All of those shirts, every single one of them, have holes and stains."

"Your point being?"

"I'm sick of cleaning clothes that are destroyed when you could very easily just buy new ones."

Derek looked over at him. "So you're refusing to do my laundry anymore? That's fine."

He shook his head. "No, I'm not refusing anything. _You're_ refusing to throw away clothes that are completely flawed, just because you don't want to buy new shirts."

"What's wrong with the ones I have?"

He got up and grabbed Derek's hand, walking to the bedroom. He grabbed the first shirt off the pile, pointing to the sleeve. "Blood from when you were shot at and grazed by a bullet – never came out, no matter how much I tried." He threw the shirt down, picking up another.

"What's wrong with that one?"

He ran his finger along the inside, poking it outside of a hole on the left side. "Get it now?"

"There can't be a problem with every single one…"

Spencer went through every shirt in the pile, pointing out every single rip, tear, stain, and imperfection in them. He set down the final shirt and looked at Derek. "Oh?"

Derek groaned. "So my clothes aren't perfect. I'm not going to throw away nearly every t-shirt I own."

"If you don't throw them away, I'm throwing them away the next time they end up in the laundry," Spencer warned.

"You want me to have _no_ clothes?"

"Though I do like you in that condition, I still want you to own clothes, Derek. Just clothes that don't look like you rolled out of bed in them," he tried to reason.

* * *

Derek seemed to consider it before turning to Spencer. "…I'll make a deal."

"I'm listening?"

He pointed to the pile of shirts. "I will throw away _two_ shirts for every ugly ass sweater or vest you get rid of."

Spencer scoffed. "Derek, that's unreasonable. There's nothing wrong with my sweaters or my vests. I'm not going to throw them away simply because you think they, what's your wording, 'make you look like a grandpa'?"

Derek smirked, shrugging. "Fine, I'll let you donate them or something, that way they'll still get use. But I am not having my man walking around looking less than amazing."

He rolled his eyes at the comment before eyeing the closet: most of the space was Spencer's, considering he only wear dress shirts and things of the such, and only a small portion was Derek's. "Do I have _any_ say in what stays?"

"If something matters that much to you, it can stay, but other than that, I'd better see ten of those things go. Fair trade?"

Spencer nodded, sitting on the bed. "Fine, pick away."

Derek opened the doors to the closet, thumbing through the hangers and immediately yanking up a hanger. He held out a light brown vest with brown trim, showing it to Spencer.

"This thing is _definitely_ going."

"And what's wrong with that one?"

Derek eyed it. "…What _isn't_ wrong with this one? It's hideous."

He rolled his eyes. "Fine, that's 1." He reached over, grabbing two of Derek's shirts and setting them aside.

Derek then pulled out another one, showing him the front and back. "Purple in the front and white in the back? Come on, wear one or the other."

Spencer sighed dramatically. "Away it goes." He piled another two shirts on top, turning to Derek. "Next?"

"It's not a sweater, but," Derek started, reaching into the closet and pulling out his pink shirt, "this thing has _got_ to go. The phrase is wrong, real men do _not_ wear pink."

"Why that one?"

"The first time you wore this, you got shot in the leg, and the second, you hurt your wrist writing so much. This shirt is a hazard to your health."

Spencer pulled it off the hanger, throwing it onto the pile. "If you say so."

* * *

They'd gone through several others, including a thick brown sweater and the vest he'd worn when he was taken by Tobias Hankel. They were finally down to the last couple of t-shirts when Derek grabbed another vest out of his closet, setting it on the bed beside Spencer.

"Number ten?"

Spencer looked at it, tracing the hem with his finger before shaking his head. "Absolutely not."

"Spencer, the thing barely fits you anymore. You struggle to pull it over your head every time, and then you just throw it back in the closet in frustration. Come on."

"You said I had the power to keep something, and I want to keep this."

"But why? There has to be _some_ reason you refuse to throw that one away. That and the other one next to you."

Spencer picked up the one next to him, smiling. "You really don't know why I want to keep this one?"

Derek eyed it before shaking his head. "Sorry, I've got nothing."

"This one? I was wearing the day you first told me you loved me… well, after I got checked out at a hospital when Hotch kicked the crap out of me. You took me out to lunch, you took my hand, told me to never scare you like that again, and then you leaned over and whispered in my ear that you loved me too much to see me hurt again." He handed the hanger to Derek. "Put it back."

Derek smirked, hanging it up. "In that case? You need to take my red v-neck out of the pile. That's what I was wearing that day."

He shrugged, tossing it to him. "Fine."

He pointed to the other vest. "And that?"

Spencer laughed softly. "Nothing?"

"No…?"

Spencer held it up. "And I quote the great Derek Morgan, 'Jesus Christ, Pretty Boy, I want to get you out of these clothes, but it's impossible when you insist on wearing clothes tighter than your skin'." He chuckled before biting down on his lip.

Derek grabbed it off the bed, hanging it back up in the closet, before grabbing another t-shirt and putting it on the top shelf of the closet. "Our first night together."

Spencer smiled, nodding, before pointing to the piles. "I'd say we made some significant progress tonight."

Derek raised an eyebrow, impressed. "I'd say so. You do know _why_ I had to switch to t-shirts, right?"

Spencer looked up at him, confused. "No, why?"

"Because somebody in this room had a habit of ripping my shirts off and having to pick up the buttons afterward – hint, it's not me."

He blushed, shaking his head and throwing the shirts into a bag, setting them at the foot of the bed. "Well, it's a better look for you."

"Yeah, until you make me throw away most of my clothes."

He shrugged. "I think you'll be okay shopping for new ones. I'd be glad to watch you try them on and give my opinions."

"In that case, am I going to be allowed to watch you shop for sweaters and tell you not to get the hideous ones that make you look dumpy?"

Spencer laughed to himself, shaking his head. "If you insist."


End file.
